


Zahveklar (Taste Buds)

by burning_spirit



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Animated Series, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Boys Kissing, Caring James T. Kirk, Cat Spock (Star Trek), Confessions, Corny jokes, Dessert & Sweets, Dinner, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Everyday Life, Eye Sex, Five Year Mission, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Forehead Kisses, French Kissing, Gentle Kissing, Gentleness, Hand & Finger Kink, Headcanon, Holding Hands, Hugging/Embracing, Humor, Hurt Spock (Star Trek), Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Insecure Spock (Star Trek), It's Kirk, It's Spock - Freeform, James T. Kirk Loves Spock, James T. Kirk/Spock Fluff, James T. Kirk/Spock in Love, Kirk is hopelessly in love, Kirk speaks Vulcan, Kissing, Light Petting, M/M, Making Out, Married Couple, Married James T. Kirk/Spock, Married Life, Mentions of Sex, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Minor Injuries, Neck Kissing, Pet Names, Protective James T. Kirk, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Slice of Life, So Married, Somebody's in the mood, Space Husbands, Spock Loves James T. Kirk, Spock is hopelessly in love, Sweet, T'hy'la, Tenderness, Touch Telepathy, Touching, True Love, Vulcan Bond, Vulcan Kisses, Vulcan Language, Vulcan food, Worried James T. Kirk, after work, k/s - Freeform, no actual sex but give me a chance, otp, so in love it hurts, spirk, terms of endearment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-08 11:15:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19868716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burning_spirit/pseuds/burning_spirit
Summary: Commander Spock attempts to dismiss a strange sensation at dinner, but Captain Kirk, desperate to help, insists that he explain.





	Zahveklar (Taste Buds)

**Author's Note:**

> I usually imagine the original Star Trek cast in my work, but I’ve tried to maintain enough ambiguity so that you can read this as the AOS guys if you prefer/squint. :)
> 
> Vulcan translations and other thoughts are in the end notes.
> 
> Special thanks to winonakirk57 for beta services!

“Well, it’s been fun, boys. But I’ve got a hot date with M’Benga and Chapel to finish taking inventory of that medical supply shipment we got in this morning.”

Doctor McCoy, gregariously clapping Commander Spock’s left shoulder as he rose from the spot next to him, took his leave of the three remaining men at the rectangular table and departed with his tray.

“Don’t party _too_ hard, Bones,” Captain Kirk said to McCoy’s retreating back.

With a smug waggle of his eyebrows and a chuckle at Kirk’s teasing, Lieutenant Commander Scott took advantage of their seating arrangement and stretched his legs out, placing his feet on the recently-vacated chair across from him.

Kirk, where he sat facing Spock and with Scott to his right, made a similar movement beneath the table, but rather than propping his feet up, he slid them between his Vulcan’s legs, flashing a surreptitious grin at him. Spock gave no outward sign of acknowledgment, but across their telepathic bond, Kirk sensed his heartbeat accelerating an almost insignificant amount.

It had been quite a long time since they’d last played footsie outside one or the other’s quarters. Since the officers’ mess was nearly empty now, and Kirk was feeling relaxed and a little frisky, he figured… well, why not? The crew were all fully aware of their marriage anyway, and no one had ever batted an eye at any of their casual displays of affection during their off-duty hours, so the only thing truly on the line was their own pride.

Scott picked up their conversation from wherever it had left off before McCoy had excused himself, and the captain and his husband mutually pretended to be paying attention with occasional interjections and head nods. Each of them was casually thinking about his own responsibilities as the engineer talked in his cheery way. Although Kirk wasn’t particularly absorbed in what his second officer was saying, he enjoyed the levity of Scott’s brogue as well as the fact that, for once, he wasn’t upset over some catastrophic malfunction or other.

Through their marital link, Kirk noted that most of Spock’s thoughts were concentrated around an ongoing biochemical experiment in one of the science labs, something to do with a soil sample his team had collected during their most recent landing mission. Kirk’s own thoughts were divided amongst Scott’s story, the curve of Spock’s firm calf against the lazily roaming toe of his boot, the not-quite-doneness of the middle of his synthesized sirloin, and the quarterly inspection coming up in a few weeks which he needed to remember to discuss with Lieutenant Uhura and her team. (Their last inspection had been mildly hindered by a poor communications relay, a somewhat embarrassing hang-up given that the admirals frequently opted to conduct these things over remote channels, what with the _Enterprise_ being out in deep space.) He speared another bland green bean with his fork and hummed at Scott while chewing to keep him talking.

It was nice, Kirk thought, to have so few things on his plate—metaphorically speaking. The lack of any major incidents lately had allowed his crew to settle into the pleasant routines of their jobs; there were no injured personnel in sickbay, which was all but a first for their ship; and the relative mundanity had afforded him and Spock plenty of opportunities to do laps in the pool together, read and snuggle in their favorite dorsal observation lounge, and of course make love in their quarters without the constant paranoia that they would be interrupted.

He had just tucked into his dwindling pile of mashed potatoes again when Spock, out of seemingly nowhere, issued a grunting noise and scrunched up his face as if in terrible pain.

“ _Spock_ , honey!” Kirk said, reflexively grabbing his hand on the table. “Are you okay?”

The Vulcan’s fingers clenched tight around his fork under Kirk’s touch, and his eyes remained squeezed shut. He said nothing, apparently trying to school his features and reign in whatever intense sensation he was experiencing.

If the captain didn’t know better, he would have said it looked like Spock was fighting back tears. He _did_ know better, of course, and through the contact of his palm on the back of Spock’s hand, he could hear that his spouse was determinedly coming back to himself. But none of that made the sight of his bondmate in such obvious agony any easier to behold.

Beside him, he noticed in his peripherals that Scott had perched on the edge of his seat and was hardly breathing as they both waited for a signal from Spock that he was alright.

 _Sweetheart_ , Kirk thought to his husband, _what’s going on? Can you talk to me? Can you tell me what’s happening, what I can do to help?_ He unconsciously shifted his grip to rub Spock’s wrist just above the rise of his thumb, seeking to comfort him in any way he possibly could.

 _I am fine_ , was all the reply he got.

With that, Spock’s face returned to its usual stoic mask and he opened his eyes, looking sort of spaced out but perfectly normal otherwise. He regarded Kirk for a quiet moment, then nodded at Scott before carefully extricating his hand from his lover’s.

“I apologize for interrupting you, Mr. Scott,” he said, his voice a trifle more strained than usual—but not enough for any Human other than Kirk to notice. “You were saying…?”

Evidently baffled, Scott glanced at Kirk, eyes wide with alarm. At the captain’s silence and severe gaze unwavering from Spock’s face, he turned back to the calm Vulcan and spluttered, “Mr. Spock, what in the world _was_ that?”

Shaking his head with aplomb, Spock said, “Nothing of import. Your concern is appreciated, but unnecessary.”

While he spoke, Kirk slid his hand back onto Spock’s own and squeezed it in plain sight. If Scott saw the resumed contact and understood it for what it was, he gave no indication.

 _Honey, please_ , Kirk was thinking to his stubborn partner, his tone tender despite the frustrated expression he had adopted for Scott’s benefit.

“You were saying,” Spock said again in Scott’s direction, “one of the starboard Bussard collector’s ionizing beam emitters is periodically shorting out?”

 _Later , Jim_, he said pointedly in Kirk’s mind.

“Oh, _hang_ the IBE’s!” Scott said. “Ye look like _you_ just shorted out! I wanta know what happened!”

Against his will, Kirk grinned a tiny bit at Scott’s unfailing excitement for gossip and drama, as well as Spock’s look of poorly-concealed yet longsuffering annoyance. Affecting an air of relative indifference, Kirk brought his neglected forkful of mashed potatoes up to his mouth and said, “He says he’s fine, he must be fine.”

Scott eyed the captain dubiously while a burst of gratitude breezed into Kirk through Spock’s skin.

“What?” Kirk said to the engineer. “Vulcans don’t lie, remember?” He licked a few traces of butter from his lips before dabbing at them with his napkin. Then, removing his hand from Spock’s, he draped the cloth back over his lap and added, “You ever get one of those weird shudders that runs through you without any explanation? It’s probably something like that, but we just don’t get it since we’re Human, you know.” He dismissively speared the last more-red-than-pink bite of his steak and shoved it in his mouth.

Both of Spock’s legs unexpectedly wrapped around one of Kirk’s and refused to let go. Their eyes met in a brief moment of unspoken solidarity.

For his part, Scott looked unconvinced but seemed to understand that any further protestations he might put forward would be moot. “Ach,” he mumbled around his final morsel of pumpkin pie. “Does _nothin’_ ever get ye up to high doh, commander?”

His usual raised eyebrow indicating he wasn’t certain about Scott’s meaning, Spock looked to Kirk for help.

“Sure as the Lord made little green apples, Scotty,” Kirk said with a laugh, elbowing the man’s arm in good humor. Waving his fork at his husband, he said, “This one’s almost _impossible_ to rile up, you know that. But I’m sure you’ve also inferred by now that, uh… _I_ do manage the feat every once in a while.” Here, he gave the engineer a playful wink and ignored Spock’s subtle glare.

That seemed to appease the Scotsman. He chortled as he stood and picked up his tray. Looking back down at Kirk, he said, “Now _there’s_ a topic I dinnae want anythin’ else to do with!”

Kirk and Scott both laughed as the latter bid the couple farewell for the night. Calming himself, Kirk let the warmth and mirth linger in his eyes as he stared at his spouse, who in spite of his faint blush continued to cling to his Human’s leg rather desperately.

Noticing that Spock had set down his utensil and abandoned his _pri tarmeeli_ after that still-unexplained jolt he’d had, Kirk asked, “Does your curry not taste right, or…?”

Spock gave a thoughtful hum before saying, “I have… lost interest in it.” Propping his elbows on the table, he folded his hands and rested his chin atop them, watching Kirk finish his meal. “Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?” Kirk said a few seconds later, knowing his Vulcan hated poor table manners and thus refusing to speak around the last of his green beans.

“For diverting Mr. Scott’s attention,” Spock said. His foot slowly traveled up and down Kirk’s shin.

The captain smiled at his sweet lover. “You know you don’t need to thank me for things like that,” he said, inclining his head in the fairly common way he had of asking for permission. At Spock’s serene nod, Kirk dug into his leftovers, steeling himself for the spicy flavors about to invade his palate.

“Nevertheless,” Spock said as Kirk chewed, “I am grateful for the ease and charisma with which you always seem to… rescue me in social situations.”

Kirk looked up to see his first officer favoring him with the sultry, half-lidded intensity he typically reserved for the bedroom. His cheeks felt warm under Spock’s scrutiny… or maybe that was just the _pri tarmeeli_. Whatever the cause, Kirk found himself fluttering his eyelashes too quickly and grinning at the tabletop like an idiot because meeting Spock’s gaze was too much to handle.

Blushing even more fiercely as Spock renewed their game of footsie, Kirk made his way through a few more forkfuls of the Vulcan mushrooms and carrots before speaking again. “You didn’t eat very much, hon. Do you want me to go get a slice of that pumpkin pie Scotty had? We could share,” he said, teasing out the last word with a singsong vowel.

Turning his head and seeming abruptly uncomfortable, Spock said, “No, that’s quite alright.”

It wasn’t unusual for the stick-thin Spock to leave part of his meal uneaten; Humans, after all, had vastly different ideas of what constituted sufficient portion sizes from most other species they’d encountered. The standard amounts of all the dishes programmed into the ship’s food synthesizers were a third again as much as what the more nutrition-conscious and metabolically-efficient half-Vulcan required. His fastidiously mindful eating habits therefore meant that Kirk—who _never_ let food go to waste—frequently got a decent helping of whatever his mate had chosen to eat in addition to his own meals (not that the pair ever let on as much in the good doctor’s presence).

Yet while it was relatively common for Kirk to help Spock clean his plate, the scientist seldom if ever turned down an offer to split dessert. Spock was fully aware by now of Kirk’s sweet tooth, as well as his expertly-hidden desire to actually comply with _some_ part of McCoy’s dietary guidelines by not indulging in full servings of sugary snacks at every meal. Besides which, Kirk had long ago discovered his husband was somewhat of a closeted connoisseur of fruit-flavored delicacies. Spock tended to avoid chocolate and its derivatives given their inebriating effects on him, but baked goods, smoothies, and brightly-colored candies of all varieties were treats which the executive officer had almost no power to resist—they were his kryptonite, so to speak.

So Kirk, slightly concerned by Spock’s disinterest in his suggestion of pie, judged it was time to bring out the big phasers. He leaned forward conspiratorially and lowered his voice, holding Spock’s gaze with confidence now.

“Well,” he purred, one finger of his free hand gliding alluringly along the sleeve covering Spock’s bent arm. “We could always go back to our quarters, slip into our pajamas, and share a big bowl of _gespar_ -pomegranate _le-sum-krim_ in bed.” Over their link, he sent a visual fantasy to his lover in which he was spooning the smooth, rich stuff into Spock’s mouth before leaning close to lick its flavor from the Vulcan’s lips… and oddly enough, neither of them happened to be wearing pajamas in the imaginary scene.

When the idea and the mental images caused Spock’s legs to clench around his, Kirk returned pressure for pressure with his calves, the skin around his eyes crinkling in delight.

“Perhaps,” Spock mumbled, furtively meeting and avoiding Kirk’s gaze.

“Are you _sure_ you’re feeling okay?” Kirk said softly. It was one thing for his spouse to decline something like pumpkin pie, which was admittedly more savory than his preferred confections. But when his favorite custom ice cream combination was met with a lukewarm _perhaps_? That was cause for alarm.

“I am simply looking forward to being alone with you in our quarters,” Spock said, his eyes glued unseeing to the entrée Kirk had paused in devouring.

The captain studied his commander’s face for a few heartbeats, his love for the beautiful man eventually overshadowing his worry. “Alright,” he said, smiling affectionately at Spock and scooping more curry onto his fork. “I guess I should stop badgering you and just finish eating already, hm?”

“Please take your time,” Spock said, placing a hand on Kirk’s arm and transmitting a bizarrely strong sensation of caution into him.

Kirk swallowed the mouthful he was currently working on and furrowed his brow at Spock, still trying to figure out what was up with his husband.

Apparently sensing the Human’s puzzlement, Spock moved his hand to quietly hold Kirk’s and cleared his throat. “Forgive my peculiar behavior. I merely don’t want you to believe I’m rushing you.”

Feeling his heart melting as it always did for Spock, and not sure what else to say, Kirk murmured, “I love you, you know.” He took another few bites as Spock watched him with a contented half-grin.

 _I love you, too_ , Spock answered soundlessly.

At that, Kirk had an almost overwhelming desire to cup Spock’s face in his hands and kiss him all over. But alas! They were in the mess, and a few other crew members were eating and carrying on somewhere over Kirk’s shoulder. It would have to wait, mostly because he knew that once he’d started tasting his exquisite soulmate, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

 _Will you kiss me that way_ , Spock thought to him demurely, _once we’ve retired to our quarters for the night?_ His long, elegant fingers massaged a languid _ozh’esta_ into Kirk’s palm, paying extra attention to the spot just below his wedding ring.

Sweat had beaded on Kirk’s brow, and at the moment he couldn’t care less whether it was from the spicy entrée or Spock’s lovely flirtations. As he downed his penultimate bite, he sent back, _Oh, kitten… I’ll kiss you any way you want. For as long as you want._

The light green of Spock’s skin when he blushed was intoxicating. Kirk could hardly bear to look away from those sharp jade-dusted cheekbones under those gorgeous downturned lashes—but he had to if he was going to be able to keep his hands off his second-in-command long enough to get him back to the privacy of their room.

When the _pri tarmeeli_ was gone a minute later, Kirk wiped his mouth with his napkin again and dabbed the perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve.

“Shall we?” he said, pulling Spock’s hand up to plant one chaste kiss on his knuckles and another on the ring that matched his own.

Spock reached forward with his free hand to catch a few more beads of sweat on Kirk’s brow, then smoothed down that front-and-center lock of his hair that had a pernicious tendency to fall out of place. With a miniscule smirk, he said, “We shall.”

Hand in hand, the pair rose, deposited their trays, and left the mess. Turning toward Spock’s quarters, Kirk tugged his spouse along rather quickly, eager to learn the secret his science officer was withholding from him.

* * * * *

“Computer, engage lock, authorization Kirk-one-A,” Kirk said when the door swished closed behind them. Spock broke away from him and made a beeline for the little mirror over his dresser drawers, which Kirk found considerably odd. As the deliciously tall commander bent as close to the thing as possible, the captain stood and watched him, both curious about what he was doing and enjoying the familiar view of his hunched back and cute butt.

Unable to take it anymore, Kirk strode up behind his lover and grabbed his hips, giving Spock a surprised jolt. Slithering his hands around his midsection to embrace him fully, he pulled the Vulcan upright and flush against his chest. He breathed a provocative sigh into that pointed ear, then began to playfully lick, nip, and suckle at all the areas of Spock’s neck which he had learned were the most erogenous.

“Mm, you taste so much better than dinner,” he said into Spock’s skin, freeing his left hand to start working open the shoulder fastening of the blue tunic.

Through their mental connection, he felt Spock relax his telepathic defenses for the night, as usual. The sensations that swirled into him from their heightened psychological and physical contact formed a peculiar mixture of serenity, budding arousal, and mild pain.

Easing up from his attentions at Spock’s trapezius, Kirk nuzzled the soft hair at the base of his skull and tightened his grip around the perfect creature in his arms. “Have I done something to hurt you?” he whispered soberly.

Spock covered Kirk’s arms with his own, holding onto his hands securely. “Oh, Jim… no, you have never hurt me.”

“Liar,” Kirk said with an unconvinced giggle, but he couldn’t deny the tremendous relief that came with being told that whatever discomfort his husband was experiencing, at least it wasn’t his fault. With a wet kiss to the skin he had just exposed on Spock’s shoulder, he attempted to meet those big, beautiful, hazelnut-colored eyes in the mirror before them.

The Vulcan was avoiding his gaze, though, which was yet another abnormality. When Kirk added that to the incident at dinner, Spock’s atypical urge to stare at himself in the mirror, and the mysterious soreness he’d felt through the commander’s mind, the scales finally tipped: too many things were out of place about this evening. He decided to halt his seduction until he’d gotten some answers out of his spouse.

“Alright, mister,” he said in a stricter tone than he’d taken all day, twirling Spock around in his embrace and ducking his head low and close enough to finally reestablish eye contact. “What’s going on?” At his partner’s momentary hesitation, he added, gentling his timbre, “Please… talk to me, darling, I’m worried about you.” He lifted a hand to the side of Spock’s face and searched his eyes.

In a fairly uncharacteristic move, Spock actually gave an audible sigh before saying, “I’m afraid it may take quite some time for me to explain in full.” His hands timidly kneaded into Kirk’s shirt, just over his pectorals. Despite his blatant chagrin, however, he was broadcasting a distracting amount of mild rapture originating from the spot where the captain’s hand had settled underneath his uniform and pressed firmly into the small of his back.

“For you,” Kirk said, rubbing his thumb along Spock’s jaw and focusing all his love into his gaze, “I have all the time in the world.”

A humid gust of emotionally overwhelmed wonder—the Vulcan equivalent of a swoon—blew into Kirk’s body and soul via their sensory link.

“I know,” Kirk said, smiling again. “I’m being disgustingly romantic. You just bring it out in me, I suppose.” He traced the point of Spock’s velvety sideburn and the purple eyelids facing him fluttered closed. “Ironic, isn’t it? That such a logical person would inspire such unchecked sentimentality in his bondmate.”

Spock’s lips eased into a grin. “If I was truly disgusted by your admittedly illogical inclination toward hopeless romanticism—as you yourself have called it before—I would have told you as much several years ago.” Opening his eyes again, he said, “As a matter of fact, I find your poetic overtures to be… so teasingly addictive that I fear I may starve if you ever stop, and yet simultaneously so breathtaking I feel I might drown in euphoria if you continue to subject me to them.”

“A catch-22 if I ever heard one,” Kirk said, pecking at Spock’s chin and neck. “Sounds like I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t.”

“Indeed.”

Breaking out his unrestrained, starry-eyed smile, Kirk steered his lover to sit on the foot of the bed and came to stand between his legs. Petting the sleek, silken black hair, he admired the vision his pale scientist made against the backdrop of flowing crimson drapes and ancient Vulcan artifacts glinting in the low light. Such beauty should be criminal.

“So,” Kirk said, raking his fingers through Spock’s bangs, “ _what_ was with the awful face you made during dinner? For a minute there, I thought you might flip the table over on Scotty before I got him to shut up.”

Another upsettingly cute blush formed on Spock’s angular cheeks as he turned his eyes down to Kirk’s chest. “I am afraid you might…”

Kirk let his arms hang loosely about Spock’s neck and shoulders, patiently waiting for the end of his sentence.

“…Might laugh at me,” Spock finished in a sheepish mumble.

Shocked and disturbed by the implication, Kirk opened his mouth to protest when he saw a tiny grin tugging at the corners of Spock’s lips.

The first officer caressed Kirk’s muscular arms where they leisurely fenced him in, but he said no more.

“I’m having a hard time,” Kirk said, admittedly still concerned, “imagining anything that could possibly cause you to make _that_ kind of an expression but also somehow be funny.” His husband continued to avoid eye contact. “Sweetie,” he said, conflicted between being entertained and outright worried. “I’m not going to laugh about something that’s caused you _pain_.”

The utter sincerity of Kirk’s tone finally caused Spock to look up into his eyes with a trace of something resembling guilt. The commander’s smirk widened in spite of the tone of resignation he adopted.

“Throughout the course of my life,” Spock said, “I have remarked—quite disdainfully—to numerous Humans, including you and my own mother, on the peculiarity of this exact phenomenon.”

Running his fingers through the back of Spock’s hair, Kirk tilted his head inquisitively but remained quiet. He had learned by now that any time his Vulcan began a soliloquy with that type of language, an admission of something he personally found embarrassing or illogical was bound to follow. In the meantime, Kirk savored the heavenly texture of his flawless hair, letting his fingers drag through it in a soothing rhythm that slowly began to arouse both of them.

“Given that, until this evening, I had never experienced this phenomenon myself,” Spock continued, “every time I have discussed it with a member of your species, I have in fact expressed a certain skepticism about it—a disbelief in the act itself, or at least in the professed accidental nature of it.” His slender fingers clung to Kirk’s triceps and his eyes wandered all over the captain’s torso and neck as he spoke. “Actually, one of the first times I witnessed _you_ in this very situation, I asked about it somewhat ironically, feeling certain that I already knew what you would say.”

Kirk furrowed his brow but kept his amused almost-grin on his lips.

Spock went on, a little more seriously now. “Once you had explained to me what happened, trusting me to sympathize with and care for you, I responded in what I now understand was insensitive and mocking condescension. At the time, I was under the erroneous and arrogant impression that I was incapable of such a frivolous, nonsensical thing.”

Unraveling Kirk’s hands from his hair, and arms from his neck, Spock kissed his knuckles reverently, penitently. He intertwined their fingers and played with Kirk’s skin in a manner that was distracting even for the psi-null captain whose hands _weren’t_ especially sensitive.

Kirk cleared his throat loudly and raised his eyebrows, determined to get the whole story from his partner.

“ _Now_ , of course,” Spock said to their hands, where he held them before his face, “I have learned that this whole experience is a side effect of having a flawed Human—or partially Human—body which is occasionally unaware of its own actions. It is a malady which, seemingly, still does not plague those who are fully Vulcan, but which I have inevitably encountered thanks to my hybrid genetics.”

Kirk knew he’d had enough at that point. He had tumbled with his lover down the conversational rabbit hole of Spock’s half-and-half heritage more times than he cared to remember, and all it ever seemed to accomplish was making the poor man miserable and leaving Kirk with the impossible task of cheering up a creature who swore up and down that he _had_ no emotions to either depress or lift in the first place.

“Honey,” Kirk said, “you’re actually starting to freak me out now. Will you just… _tell_ me what happened at dinner? I promise I won’t laugh at you. And whatever it is, we’ll navigate our way through it together, as a team—like we always do with everything else.” He suspected he was likely being a bit melodramatic, but then again he could never be too cautious with his reticent husband, particularly where emotional or physiological matters were concerned. And if this was some sort of medical or telepathic problem that he might have to coerce Spock into getting proper professional treatment for…

He just prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

The executive officer’s cheeks turned a more vibrant shade of green, such that even Kirk could see it despite the dim ambient light.

“Come on, kitten,” Kirk said in his most saccharine tone. He tightened his grasp on Spock’s hands and leaned in to kiss the Vulcan’s temple. “Please just tell me.”

Spock’s reply was whispered so quietly that Kirk couldn’t even make it out.

“Hm?” the captain said, pulling back to look squarely at his mate.

“I…” Spock gave another sigh and came as close as he ever did to rolling his eyes. “I accidentally… bit my own tongue.”

“Spock, you—wait, you _what_?” Kirk wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly even after he’d repeated himself quite clearly.

The patient commander waited and watched as Kirk’s face cycled through a litany of emotions.

Kirk scrunched up his brows at first. “How could you never have—? Ohh, yeah,” he said with drawn-out syllables, his expression loosening up with the recall. “You know what, now that you mention it, I _do_ remember talking about this before…”

He stared blankly at the far wall over Spock’s head and felt his entire body relax as he realized he no longer needed to worry about dragging him to sickbay or… he didn’t even _know_ where to go if his spouse had some kind of telepathic issue. Did Vulcan healers set up shop on starbases in the remote areas of the galaxy? He would have to look into that at some point, just in case, and maybe consult with Spock himself about it, because he couldn’t stand to think of something happening to him that not even McCoy or M’Benga could handle, and what kind of husband would he be if he wasn’t prepared for every—

His internal ramblings were cut off by Spock chuckling low in his chest. Kirk had all but forgotten that their minds, open to one another as was their custom when off duty, were freely passing information back and forth, and Spock had probably heard every single thing he’d thought since the confession.

If he was honest with himself—and therefore also with Spock—Kirk _did_ sort of want to laugh once his brain had processed the fact that his partner wasn’t in any immediate harm or severe pain. The situation really was fairly amusing for its outrageous irony. Somehow, his impeccably dignified and graceful bondmate had gone… how old was he, again? Thirty-eight, thirty-nine _years_ without ever _once_ biting his own tongue. That clean a record would understandably lead one to believe himself immune, he supposed, and Spock had certainly earned his previously holier-than-thou attitude toward his Human colleagues falling prey to the ridiculously mundane occasional injury.

Finally, a few seconds after he’d trailed off, Kirk jolted back into the present moment. The important matter at hand was that, whether he’d experienced this before or not, Spock had bitten his tongue at dinner. And that could hurt like a tiny photon torpedo even _without_ the emotional baggage his adorable lover carried over the concept.

The captain’s lips settled into a tender smile. “Baby,” he said around a giggle, kissing his forehead again. “This is nothing to be embarrassed about! It happens to everybody.”

 _Not to Vulcans_ , he heard Spock think almost inaudibly in their linked minds.

“And you know something else?” Kirk went on. “I’d be willing to bet the whole Kirk family farm that full-blooded Vulcans _do_ bite their own tongues. And the insides of their cheeks, and… They probably stub their toes and ram their arms into walls and do all those other little minor, stupidly unaware things we Humans do.”

That got Spock to look into his eyes again, albeit with a raised brow and a creeping undercurrent of doubt tickling the edges of their telepathic bond. If Spock was completely Human, Kirk might have thought he was about to say something like, _I’m not a child, Jim, you don’t have to dumb this down for me_.

Before he had the chance to say anything, though, Kirk barreled on. “But evidently they just hide it really well,” he said, slipping his hands back into Spock’s hair. “And then when they’re asked about it they misdirect and sleight-of-hand their way out of admitting to it. Since of _course_ they would never outright _lie_ about it.”

The couple shared a wonderfully free moment of open delight, each smiling at the other and laughing.

“So maybe,” Kirk said, pulling Spock close and peppering kisses all over his face, “when you were a kid—the cute, fat-cheeked little toddler I just _know_ you were, with huge, bright eyes and itty bitty pointed ears and your own teeny tiny little traditional Vulcan robes—and your mom bit her tongue at dinner one night and you asked about it… Maybe once she’d explained it to you, and you looked at Sarek to find out if _he_ ever did the same thing, well… Maybe he turned the same lovely shade of green you are right now, God bless Lady Amanda’s heart, and instead of actually indulging your high-pitched and absolutely _precious_ curiosity, he chickened out and made some excuse about an ambassadorial call coming in or your mom leaving the salad tongs in the kitchen or something.”

Spock seemed to seriously consider the possibility. “I must concede,” he said at last, “that it is entirely possible. However, I still believe it to be highly unlikely, as such detachment from the body is rather… _beneath_ my father’s race.”

“I think you’d be surprised,” Kirk said with the quiet intuitive confidence he always used to subdue his Vulcan in his moments of duress and self-deprecation. He kept his hands sifting through Spock’s hair in a calm, pacifying rhythm, himself relishing in the erotic feel of those dark, silken locks along the delicate webs of skin between his fingers. Wondering how he could possibly be more in love than he already was, he inhaled the positively inebriating aroma of his spouse’s body, whimpering contentedly as he exhaled and finally felt Spock’s hands touching him, settling against the small of his back.

“Anyway,” Kirk said, “it sounds like you’ve been extraordinarily careful, or maybe just extraordinarily lucky never to have had this happen to you before.” He caressed Spock’s cheek with his lips and the tip of his nose. “Here, let me see it, I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

Spock looked downright mortified at the suggestion. His hands fell to Kirk’s hips for a beat, then down into his lap.

Laughing gently, Kirk said, “I’m not going to _tell_ anybody, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“No,” Spock said, shaking his head slightly. “I simply do not wish for you to be forced to…”

After a beat, Kirk asked sternly, “Forced to what? Look at your tongue?” Their eyes meeting, he softened his gaze. “As if I would find that so unpleasant.” Grinning now, and thumbing the spot behind Spock’s ear that made the Vulcan’s knees weak, he finished, “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Whether Spock liked it or not, Kirk wasn’t about to drop the issue. Masking his stubbornness beneath an incentivizing wave of lust, he pawed and nipped at his husband’s chin and lower lip.

“Come on,” he murmured, “open up for me. _Adun_.”

Never able to resist Kirk’s singular brand of persuasion, Spock obliged. He shut his eyes and took in a centering breath, then let his lips fall open. His tongue hesitated a moment, but eventually it obediently slid out far enough for the injury in question to become visible.

 _Undignified… humiliating_ , Spock thought to himself—but of course Kirk heard it, too.

“Hey,” Kirk said, getting his mate to open his eyes. When he had Spock’s attention, he playfully stuck his own tongue out as if he was a small boy again, even adding a mocking little hummed note. “ _That’s_ undignified and humiliating,” he said.

A disgruntled clenching of his lover’s jaw accompanied Spock’s baritone in his mind saying, _Might we just get this over with?_

Kirk smiled, turning his eyes to examine the lovely emerald-colored tongue on such rare display before him.

A small viridian bruise had formed just left of center and about two centimeters back from the tip. Three or four of the taste buds around it were paler than the rest and looked to be the only real casualties of the incident. Aside from the faint discoloration and the few minty-whitish nubs that had been jostled out of formation, it didn’t appear to be too serious of a wound.

“You poor thing,” Kirk said with a tutting noise, keeping his voice genuinely compassionate. “Well, I’m no medic, but it doesn’t look too bad. It _is_ a little swollen, but I don’t think you actually punctured or tore anything.”

The captain’s assessment having been delivered, Spock immediately tucked his tongue back behind his lips and seemed to be rolling it around uncomfortably in his mouth.

“Doesn’t look like there’s any major damage,” Kirk added, rubbing the fingers of one hand over Spock’s cheek and eyebrow, the other still entangled in his hair and teasing his follicles. “It’ll be alright, should heal in the next couple of days. But promise me you’ll let me know if it keeps bothering you, okay?”

Spock nodded his assent, and his gratitude flowed into Kirk’s veins. His relief at not needing to be hauled to sickbay was tangible, and Kirk heard him thinking in the back of his mind how fortunate it was that McCoy had left their dinner table when he had.

“He only would have ‘hassled’ you because he _cares_ about you,” Kirk said to his lover.

“Nevertheless,” Spock returned, artfully (and obstinately) avoiding any form of actual acknowledgment of the notion.

Petting Spock’s hair with his free hand before burying and nestling it alongside the other, Kirk sighed and said, “I’m sorry this happened to you, sweetheart. Hurts like a bitch, doesn’t it?”

Begrudgingly, Spock said, “Yes, I suppose that is an apt description of the sensation.” His hands clenched where they primly rested on his legs. “It is mostly numb now, but it certainly was quite painful—and surprising—when it initially happened.”

“Yeah, that’s how it goes,” Kirk said, tenderly massaging his scalp.

Spock’s eyelids drooped at the touch. “Despite your lack of medical training,” he said, sounding drowsy, “your ministrations and your bedside manner are both proving to be exceptionally effective catalysts to the healing process.”

A low purring sound met Kirk’s ears. He smiled and pressed his lips to Spock’s forehead, savoring the vibrations of his catlike soulmate’s happy reflex. An idea occurred to him then, and he placed several sweet, feathery kisses around Spock’s eyebrow as he gently lowered himself onto his lap. The first officer’s arms came around him while he settled half on the bed, half on a long, lean thigh.

“I think,” Kirk began, kissing Spock’s cheek now and moving toward his earlobe, “I know of a way…” He laid another kiss under that black sideburn and ran his fingers over the opposite side of his face. “…To make you feel a little better…” He took Spock’s lobe in his mouth and sucked it delicately, briefly, his hand caressing his neck. “…If you’d be willing to try a bit of…” Licking along the shell of his ear, Kirk slid his hand underneath the xenylon fabric of his partner’s tunic, titillating the cool skin of his shoulder. “…Experimental medicine?”

Spock shivered so prettily the Human almost couldn’t stand it. A slanted brow lifted in his signature gesture of good humor, although his eyes remained closed and his breathing grew shallower by the second.

“Anything,” the enraptured and devastatingly gorgeous Spock whispered, “for the advancement of science.” Strong arms tightened across Kirk’s back, the steel grip of two powerful Vulcan hands holding fast to his shoulder and waist.

With an approving groan, Kirk turned his husband’s face until their mouths were aligned, then slowly closed the distance between them. He ran his tongue passionately over Spock’s supple lips, cradling his chiseled jaw and using his wide thumb to make small downward coaxing motions on his chin.

 _Open for me again, my love_ , Kirk thought, hating the idea of having to remove his lips from Spock’s even just for a moment. His opposite hand continued raking through the commander’s hair in tantalizing drags.

“ _Dzheims_ ,” Spock sighed, mouth still pressed against Kirk’s. “ _Weht, ashal-veh_ …”

 _Oh, Spock, yes_ , Kirk returned telepathically. Hearing his lover speak in his native language sent the most euphoric pinpricks of desire all throughout his body, not to mention the unique and poignant arousal which always resulted when that orgasmic voice whispered Kirk’s given name in that exotic accent. The captain reveled further at the sensation of one of Spock’s hands migrating to his outer hip and guiding him closer, repositioning him so that he ended up sitting side-saddle on his bondmate’s lap.

Catching Spock’s tongue between his front teeth with the lightest pressure, Kirk lured it out and brought his own lips to it. He was sure to be as thorough and tender as possible, kissing every millimeter of it that he could reach and—once he’d found it by the texture—focusing his attentions on soothing the sore spot in question. Spurred on by a bashful moan from Spock, he licked the wound and made as many soft wet noises as he could with their meeting and parting mouths.

 _Copper_ , Kirk thought as he tasted his patient. _Sour cream… Vulcan tea… cinnamon… pure, one-of-a-kind Spock ambrosia._

Finally, Kirk slipped his hand under the base of Spock’s shirt and up his chest. When his fingers met the downy fur sprinkled all over his pectorals, he gave a sinful hum and wrapped his lips fully around the science officer’s tongue, creating a gentle seal and beginning to lewdly suckle on it. Over their connection, he transmitted images to his husband of touching, kissing, licking, and sucking numerous of his rather more intimate body parts: Kirk’s explicit fantasies included Spock’s hypersensitive fingertips, his charming little nipples, the hollow of his neck, his swollen genital sheath, his proud and beautiful erection.

“Jim,” Spock said, his voice rough when he managed to ease his tongue out of Kirk’s mouth. He steadied their bodies against each other in a move that was clearly intended to allow them both to catch their breath.

Kirk took an evaluative once-over of the Vulcan. His deep brown irises were most of the way dilated, his face was flushed, his nostrils were flaring with his rapid breathing, and his bangs were disheveled from Kirk’s wandering hands.

 _You are just… incomprehensibly handsome_ , Kirk thought absently, his blood sizzling with worshipful eagerness.

Spock let out a sensual exhalation at his Human’s praise. And his body gave another tiny spasm when Kirk just barely ghosted his touch over one of his nipples.

“Is this medicine helping at all, _ha’su_?” Kirk said in a sultry murmur.

Without a word, Spock drew their lips back together and zealously plundered Kirk’s mouth.

 _I guess I’ll take that as a yes_ , Kirk thought with a grin. His own pleasure intensified exponentially when Spock began to work his mustard-colored tunic off of him, even while keeping their mouths locked.

They inevitably had to part lips so that each could divest the other of his shirt. Kirk—the first of the pair to be freed of his uniform—took the opportunity to revisit an idea he’d had at dinner and forgotten about until now.

“Spock,” he said, huddling up against his lover’s partially-exposed chest and slowing the pace at which he was helping him out of the blue sleeves. “What do you say I prescribe you some of that ice cream now?”

“Your flavor is all my injured taste buds require at the moment,” Spock said, the romantic sentiment and the sparkle in his eyes turning Kirk’s insides to mush. “Although I do imagine that the frozen indulgence would also feel pleasant on them.”

Kirk laughed and pulled Spock’s shirt the rest of the way off his lithe body. Wrapping his arms around his Vulcan’s neck again and kissing his cheek, he felt his husband smiling into his shoulder.

“I love you so much, my precious little sugar addict,” Kirk said, knowing without a doubt that he was the happiest, luckiest man in the galaxy.

**Author's Note:**

> Vulcan translations:
> 
>  _zahvek_ = taste bud; any of numerous spherical or ovoid clusters of receptor cells found mainly in the epithelium of the tongue and constituting the end organs of the sense of taste  
>  _-lar_ = suffix used to indicate plural  
>  _pri tarmeeli_ = a hot and spicy Vulcan vegetable entrée, much like a vegetable curry (a photo taken of an adjacent recipe in the Star Trek Cookbook [here](https://mfu-canteen.livejournal.com/1695327.html) has this spelling, as opposed to the VLD’s _pre tarmeeli_ )  
>  _gespar_ = a tangy and piquant Vulcan fruit  
>  _le-sum-krim_ = ice cream  
>  _ozh’esta_ = finger embrace, a touching of the index and middle fingers between bondmates  
>  _adun_ = husband  
>  _Dzheims_ = James, i.e. Kirk’s given name pronounced with a Vulcan accent (transliterating the Vulcan _dzh_ sound for the “J” phonetic of English/Standard, e.g. _Dzhefris_ = Jefferies, _Raidzhelsu_ = Rigellian, etc.) (I head canon that Spock saying Kirk’s name with his native accent _really_ turns the captain on :))  
>  _weht_ = more  
>  _ashal-veh_ = darling, beloved  
>  _ha’su_ = angel (in my head canon, one of Kirk’s favored pet names for Spock)
> 
> *Translations taken from the Vulcan Language Dictionary at https://www.starbase-10.de/vld/ and korsaya.org
> 
> I got Scotty’s little turn of phrase from [this page](https://www.scottish-at-heart.com/scottish-sayings.html), because… well, I’m not Scottish! I just hope I used it correctly…
> 
> Captain Kirk does not throw away food if he can help it. If you’d like canonical support for this technically-not-explicitly-stated yet I-believe-it-fiercely-enough-to-fight-someone-over-it habit, just watch “The Conscience of the King” again. :]
> 
> Back at the beginning of June, I was at a cookout, minding my own business and enjoying a delicious hot dog when my idiot teeth decided to sink down into my own tongue. If you’re at all like me, you’ve probably bitten your tongue about a million times—but this most recent time I did it, I swear to Borg my terrorist of a jaw chomped down on that baby _as hard as it possibly could_ and it hurt like the _devil_. I kid you not: SIX WEEKS went by before it was mostly healed. It seems to be alright now (yay), but anyhow, that was the inspiration behind this fic. I started writing it a few days after it happened because it hurt so badly in the first week or so (read as: I had to knock myself out with pain pills to manage it) that it was quite literally one of the only things I could think about. I didn’t want to submit Spock to that kind of magnitude, so I tried to keep his bit tongue on the mild side, poor guy… but I really liked the idea of him having some kind of ailment that’s more or less mundane to Humans but which mortifies him to admit to. (Sorry, Spocky.) Plus, I always love an excuse to write a doting and pampering Kirk!!


End file.
